


Just a Taste

by nan



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan/pseuds/nan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as he'd truly began to appreciate being alone, in walks this sodding boy to turn everything on its fucking ear. And he'd been good, Peter had been so fucking good, he only touched Charley with his gaze, never taking it any further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Taste

Peter wasn't entirely sure how this happened. One moment, he was between the thighs of a gorgeous woman. The next, Charley was entering his suite, glassy eyed and angry and so upset that Peter couldn't turn him away, even if he wanted to. Which he didn't, though the woman promised orgasms and Charley merely promised...Charley. Which was better than orgasms and how sodding pathetic was _that_?

Wrapping a robe around his shoulders and pulling his jeans back on, Peter sat beside Charley. "Right then," he said, wincing away from the misery on Charley's face. "What's on your mind? You look damn awful, mate, like someone-"

"Amy broke up with me."

Peter paused, blinking. "She what?" he said because, well, _what_?

"Yeah. She said that we just weren't working out." Charley chuckled and shook his head, glancing at Peter. "Can you believe that? We're 'not working out.' How can I fix something so vague?"

"One sec," Peter said, getting up and going to the bar. Grabbing two bottle, he realized absently that his hands were shaking. How bloody ridiculous. It's not as if Amy breaking up with him meant Charley would suddenly be interested in _him_.

But he _could_ be, a nasty little voice whispered, the words echoing in his head like a goddamn bell and Peter turned abruptly, offering the bottle. Just before Charley took it, Peter pictured himself pulling back, telling the kid that it was late and that he should probably head home and go to bed. _Alone_. Instead, he let Charley take the bottle and take a long pull from it. Peter watched his throat as he swallowed and with a muttered curse he tore his gaze away, taking a quick gulp of his own bottle. This was maddening. Charley was _right there_ , and it would have been so easy, so bloody easy to reach out and touch.

"It's all right, kid. You'll find someone else."

Charley shook his head. "Not like her," he muttered. "She was something special." He laughed brokenly. "You know what she told me? She told me that we were more like best friends than lovers and that I was more interested in hanging out then having sex."

Peter winced. "Damn."

"Yeah." Charley brought the bottle back to his mouth and drank, grimacing as he did so and this time, Peter didn't look away. Instead, he watched in frank admiration because hell, it wasn't as if Charley would notice, so deep in his puppy love angst and apparently deadset on becoming completely arseholed. Charley coughed when he pulled the bottle back, spilling some on his chest as he gasped for breath. "You know the worst part?" he said. "I knew this was going to happen eventually. I'm just not good enough for her."

Peter arched one brow severely. "Bollocks. She bloody well didn't say that, did she?"

"Of course not." Charley drank deeply from his bottle again - Peter was a little concerned to see it was already half empty - before shaking his head. "But she was....perfect," he said. "Just. Beautiful and smart and funny-"

"Yes, yes, yes, I know," Peter said, waving one hand in the air negligently. "I know all of that, kid. I just don't know why you're saying this about not deserving her?"

Charley paused, blinking at Peter. "Well. Look at me," gesturing at himself. "I don't think I really need to add anything, do I? I'm so...normal. Completely average." He sighed extravagantly and titled his head against the plush, high back of the sofa. "Fuck."

Peter snorted. "That's ridiculous," he said, allowing himself to reach over and pat Charley on the knee. He'd meant to take his hand back, he really did, but for some reason it stayed on Charley. "You're not average, kid. You're," careful, careful, "smart and quite handsome in that skinny, squirrelly way that girls fancy so much now."

"Wow, thanks."

"Listen," Peter said, turning to face him fully. "Listen to me. It just didn't work out. It happens. Amy's a lovely girl but she's not the only girl out there. And yes, I know, she's 'something special.' I'll let you in on a little secret, kid. _They all are._ You're going to feel this strongly for someone again and Amy will be a memory or perhaps a very good friend and that's just the way it goes." He knew he was leaning in too close, taking too much of a chance and testing the limits of his own self-control but fuck if he could pull back now. "You're a fucking gorgeous young man. You make others want to be better people just by being around them, just by sharing their fucking air." Peter leaned in even further. "You're a goddamn pot of gold around here and if she couldn't see that, it's her own goddamn loss, right?" Charley stared up at him with wide eyes and a soft mouth and Peter knew he'd said too much. "Anyway." He pulled back and took another swallow of his drink. "Here's to finding someone who doesn't think of you as a friend or kid brother, huh?" And he nearly stumbled right the fuck over that cheer because _here he was_ , certainly not thinking Charley as either a friend - though he was _trying_ \- or a kid brother.

Something pressed against his mouth and it took Peter a moment to realize that Charley had kissed him, had brought their lips together in a too-brief kiss.

"Sorry," Charley said, big eyes even rounder as he stared up at Peter. "I-I was just, I'm sor-" Peter didn't let him finish his apology, instead taking his mouth again, sliding his tongue against the plush seam of Charley's lips and pressing in. Charley made a low noise, possibly in protest but Peter ignored it because this wasn't fair, this wasn't _bloody fair_ ; fate, the universe, _whatever_ , saw fit to take everyone from him and just as he'd truly began to appreciate being alone, in walks this sodding boy to turn everything on its fucking ear. And he'd been good, Peter had been so fucking good, he only touched Charley with his gaze, never taking it any further.

Until tonight, when Charley walked in with wounded eyes and a broken heart and fuck, Peter's drunk but he's not drunk enough for this to be a good idea. He was never good at saying no though, especially when what he wanted practically set himself down in Peter's lap. Murmuring comforting nonsensical words against Charley's mouth, Peter ran a hand through his curls, fingers scratching against his scalp and Charley hummed, no longer fighting. He curled his arms around Peter's neck and kissed back and Peter wasn't sure if he did it so poorly because he was fucking sloshed or because of lack of practice but he was determined to teach Charley how to properly kiss, even if he didn't remember it later.

Rolling over, Peter pressed Charley on his back, not breaking the kiss as he settled atop him, straddling his thighs. Resting his weight on his elbows, Peter framed Charley's face with his hands, long fingers stroking his cheeks as he softened the kiss until he was only mouthing Charley's lips. Sliding wetly over his cheek, Peter nipped at Charley's ear and shuddered at the groaned that produced, at the hands that curled over his shoulders and pressed him down. Returning to his mouth, Peter kissed Charley, overwhelming the boy with his ferocity, overwhelming himself with how much he needed this.

Shite. What he _needed_ was to stop. Softening the kiss, Peter drew back and pressed a wet kiss against Charley's forehead, panting against his hair. He shushed Charley's gasps, curling his arms under his shoulders and rocking him gently until Charley calmed, eventually falling into a drunken stupor. Peter said back, letting his hands drag down the front of Charley's shirt before lifting himself up and off, instead grabbing a nearby blanket and throwing it over the prone body. Running a hand over his face, Peter watched him sleep for a moment before turning away. That was stupid. That was bloody, buggering, _stupid_.

Walking to his bedroom, Peter slipped his jeans off and fell atop the bed, grounding his arousal against the soft, silken sheets before sighing and turning over. Fuck. Either Charley would forget the whole thing or tomorrow morning would be incredibly awkward. Peter wasn't sure which one he preferred, really. He didn't really fancy a fist to the face but he wouldn't blame Charley for it either. And if for whatever reason, Charley remembered and _wasn't_ angry - which Peter could hope for, even if he knew it wouldn't happen - well. Peter would be happy to continue their kissing lessons.


End file.
